


Water Colours

by fitz-and-simmons (fitzandjemma)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, a story in four parts, not full on smut though, there is some heated times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzandjemma/pseuds/fitz-and-simmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Jemma's old water colour set was important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Because I've been doing a lot of painting lately. This is basically a love story to my paint set.

**i.**

Water colours were always the preferred paint for a thrifty parent as the more thinned out with water, the longer they lasted. When she had moved to America Simmons had brought with her an old water colour set which she had received many Christmases ago. It was cheap and simple, red plastic, moulded into a artist palette. The paint consisted of hard circles of bright colours nestling inside.

She was by no means a great painter but she did have a creative streak that she had to scratch now and then. She would doodle on her work more and more until she had to do something a little bigger.

She would copy pictures she found on the internet of album covers and whatever was on her mind and paint them. Then the itch would be gone and she would resume back to work. The cycle repeated every few months or so.

It wasn’t a large part of her life. She was no Leonardo Da Vinci in disguise. But it could prove a nice way to pass the time.

Fitz didn’t find out for the first few years they knew each other as there was no need to tell him and it never came up in conversation. This was why when he spontaneously popped round hers one day - as he was apt to do - the sight of a trace of paint on her hand threw him. Fitz’s eye for detail noticed it almost immediately. It was a pale, translucent green that swept her thumb, stopping just short of her baby blue nail.

“You’ve been painting? But you don’t paint.”

“How’d you know?”

“There’s some on your hand.”

“Oh dear.” She wiped it on her jeans.

“My earlier point still stands. You don’t paint.”

“As you know my dear Fitz, I am a woman of mystery.”

“Ha bloody ha. But in all seriousness, all this time I’ve known you, you’ve never painted.”

“Actually I’ve been painting far longer than I’ve known you. It was just never important enough to mention.”

“Are you like a secret artist or something? Is this something else you’re brilliant at?”

“No no no, nothing like that. It’s just something I do occasionally. I knit too, would you like to talk about that?”

Fitz finally moved from the doorway to her room, pushing past Simmons slightly as she stood her ground in front of him. Ignoring her disgruntled state, he flopped down on the tiny sofa. She shut the door and sat on the sofa next to him.

“The difference is that I knew about the knitting.” Simmons interrupted him as she sighed at how useless this conversation was becoming. “What were you painting anyway?”

“Does it matter?”

“Very much so.”

“A tree. I was painting a tree.”

“Can I see it?”

“Certainly not. Are you happy now?”

“Not until you apologise for keeping this secret from me, you horrible friend, you.”

“Leopold Fitz.” Fitz winced at his full name. “I would like to make a formal apology for not telling you that sometimes I like to paint. I’m sorry that I don’t tell you every detail of my life because the only way my life is valid is if you know about it.” The sarcasm oozed from her and made a mess on the floor.

“You’re welcome.” Fitz said sincerely and happily.

“Wait until I tell you about the burlesque dancing.”

“What?!”

**ii.**

The small standard issue Shield dorm was silent. It contained three rooms, a living room of sorts, a small loo and a bedroom. On the floor of that bedroom were spread a few pieces of paper, a cup of water, a couple paintbrushes and a red plastic paint set.

The sound of giggling drifted through the dorm. Then, a loud crash on the door, followed by yet more giggling. A key scraped harshly against the lock before slotting in and unlocking the door. It burst open and the light tumbled in, along with two drunk scientists.

Jemma pulled Fitz’s tie, yanking him down so that he was kissing her again. He groaned against her mouth and she laughed again. He nuzzled into her ear and the promise of ‘bedroom’ flittered between them.

They stumbled there, still enthusiastically attached at the mouths. After years of only brief cherished touches, this was it, finally their night to touch and touch and keep going.

Fitz didn’t look up until he realised he was standing on a piece of paper. Looking down, he saw what it was and gave her a dopey smile.

“Is this your paintings?”

“Yes. Not important.”

“Oh yeah!” He eagerly resumed their previous activities. She pushed him a little, sending them both flying to the bed.

Soon they had disposed both of their shirts and he was kissing her neck. Jemma, for the first time in her life, stopped thinking and started feeling until an idea occurred to her.

Gently nudging him off of her, she reached down to the floor and retrieved her paint set and a brush.

“Jemma?”

She dipped the brush into the water and shuffled back onto the bed. She rubbed the brush into the red and placed the tip against his bare chest. He flinched at the cold, wet paint. Awkwardly she painted a heart over his own. It didn’t work well, water colour on water proof skin. But he appreciated the gesture and to show it he planted a careful kiss on her forehead and then her cheeks, until he was back at her mouth again.

Eager to resume business, she chucked the set and the brush onto the floor, cracking some of the hard circles.

The next morning they painfully agreed never to talk about their drunken encounter again. Whilst cleaning up, Jemma picked up her childhood paints. They felt tainted. She put them away and didn’t look at them again for a long time.

**iii.**

The palette had somehow made its way to the Playground. Jemma was aware of having it on the Bus but there had never been the time or urge to paint.

She had far too much time now. He’d been in a coma for four days now.

On the fifth day she came to his room armed with the set, a brush, water and paper. For the whole day she painted silly, wobbly pictures of monkeys and memories and things she thought he’d want to see when he woke up. She tacked up every picture, no matter how bad.

By the ninth day they clustered around him and the colours invaded his eyelids, pushing them up. They heaved and sweated until his eyes were open.

The first picture he saw was a heart. Some attempts had been done at shading but it was pretty basic. A memory stirred inside of him.

A girl slept in chair next to him. He knew her. She looked uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to try and wake her but no sound came out. Instead he lay there, with no one to help him or explain. So to while away the time he drank in the pictures around him, marvelling at the love in them.

**iv.**

“That’s pretty darling. Are those my old paints? Where did you find them?”

“In a cupboard. I was so bored Mom!” Amy Fitz-Simmons exclaimed. “Look I did our house and you and dad and me and my baby sister.”

“Or brother.”

“But Mom, I told you I don’t want a brother. I want a sister!”

Entering from the next room Fitz chuckled, catching the familiar words his daugher had been repeating since she heard the news. He fondly patted her on the hand.

“You know chick, we can’t choose. It’s a surprise.” Amy dismissed him and went back to her painting. Fitz turned to Jemma.

“I recognise those paints.”

“I’ve had them a while. They’re almost empty now.”

“That’s a shame.” He wistfully gazed at them, momentarily consumed by nostalgia.

“Hey.” She brought him back to reality. “Just because we’re turning to a new chapter doesn’t mean we’ll forget the old one.”

He kissed her fondly on the forehead. The old paint set, initially a thrifty present chosen by a busy parent, gave its last painting of a colourful picture of the family it had helped, if only a little, to create.

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed a story with a happy ending! Let me know if you liked it. 
> 
> Story Notes -  
> 1\. Simmons and me have a similar attitude to painting.  
> 2\. Yes, I named their child after my favourite Doctor Who character.


End file.
